Use Your Imagination
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Just My Imagination tag story: When Dean's in trouble, Sam can't think of anyone else to call.


**Use Your Imagination**  
**K Hanna Korossy**

_"S-Sammm?"_

He thought Dean was drunk at first. It was a mistake he'd made before. _S-Samm-mmy…how's, uh, school go—?_ or _I c'n get up. I c'n—dude, I'm bleedin'…_

"Dean?" Sam tried not to sound incredulous, but this was so not the time. He made a face at his phone. "You doing witness interviews in a bar?"

_ "Wi'ness… No, I'm…'m ina box…think I'm ina wa'er?"_

And, just like that, just like too many times in the past, exasperation turned to terror.

00000

This wasn't supposed to be the dangerous part of the case.

They were looking for…well, Sam was pretty sure it was a kelpie, but Dean had been thinking kappa. Something that was taking people from their homes and drowning them. There weren't any credible witnesses, but there were a few probably drunken stories they still wanted to check out, and the usual family members to talk to. So they'd split up. Neither of them was supposed to be near the water, anyway.

"Dean?" Sam clutched the phone so tight, his hand would hurt later. "What happened?"

_ "Dunno. Uh…we were talkin'? I think. Dom'no. Then I was…" _A hoarse cough. _"s'hard to breathe…"_

Crap, crap, crap. Dean was getting hypoxic—that was why he sounded drunk. A few more minutes and he'd pass out, and a few more minutes beyond that…

Okay, okay, so, Domino. That had to be Dominica, the vic's friend Dean was going to talk to. One-handed, Sam yanked the map over even as he scanned their notes. There, Wilson Street. Which was…

_ "'am…it's…I see gon… m'ead…"_

Sam winced; gibberish would be one of the last symptoms as Dean's brain started shutting down for lack of air. "Hold on, man. Just, don't talk, okay?" He searched the map wildly.

There. Wilson Street. About two blocks from the edge of the lake.

And about fifteen minutes away from the motel where Sam was standing.

That brought a cold shot of panic, but Sam didn't pause. He reached for his keys—no, wait, Dean had the Impala. A borrowed car it would be. He was already outside, searching the parking lot. "Hang on, Dean, I'm coming, okay?"

A mumble. Then only the sound of shallow breaths.

Swearing in his head, Sam chose a silver Honda and made quick work of unlocking it. "Dean?"

Nothing. Just that uneven breathing that sounded like it would stop at any minute.

Sam wouldn't make it. He knew it as he hotwired the Honda, shot out of the parking lot, and started weaving through midday traffic. He wouldn't make it. Dean would suffocate wherever he was: Sam didn't even know where exactly. His throat tight, he swiped at his eyes. "Dean? I'm coming."

But it wouldn't matter by the time he did.

Okay. Okay. So, it didn't have to be him pulling his brother out of the water, right? Cas…well, Cas couldn't fly anymore, so he couldn't help. Crowley? Maybe. But considering Crowley had tried to kill Dean the last time they'd met, maybe not. Demons could teleport, but that wasn't helpful. Amara…maybe she'd save Dean, but Sam had no way of getting in touch with her, even if he wanted to risk it. And, oh yeah, cops. Like they'd believe it if Sam—

Dean's breath hitched. For a second, Sam couldn't breathe, either, afraid his brother wouldn't start again. Then a weak cough and another labored inhale.

_C'mon, Sam_, he chided himself. _Who—?_

He blinked. Could that be…?

Hunched over the steering wheel of the unfamiliar car, Sam took a wet breath. "Sully? I don't know if I can…you know, reach you this way. But if you're listening, I really, really need your help." Then Sam waited, not quite daring to hope.

He'd had enough experience with Cas popping in unexpectedly to keep from swerving too badly when there was suddenly a colorful figure sitting in the passenger seat where there'd been no one a second before. But Sam would be lying if he said he didn't jerk the wheel just a little, and get honked at.

"Hi, Sam!" Sully was his usual smiles and all cheer. Then he got a good look at Sam, and his smile faded into concern. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Sam swallowed, and tried not to feel like he was twelve as his voice cracked and wobbled through his plea to his imaginary friend.

00000

Zanna didn't do things like this. Usually. They didn't hear calls unless they were tuned to "their kids," and they weren't supposed to go around physically doing things to help the kids, let alone the grown-up versions of their charges. Their role was usually about emotional support, with a side of small favors like washing sheets after an accident or procuring nachos with marshmallow sauce. Not diving into lakes to retrieve drowning brothers and save their lives.

But one desperate, grief-stricken glance from Sam, and Sully had caved. His job, after all, was to help lost kids, and Sam was utterly lost without his brother.

"Okay. I'll try. But it might not work," Sully cautioned gently. "Just…drive carefully and think good thoughts, okay?"

And then he was gone.

Sam still clutched the phone with its open line. The other end had long gone silent, but he could hear the occasional gasping breath that said his brother was still fighting. Sam couldn't bear to talk to him anymore, straining instead to hear any sound that might indicate Sully had found him.

Dean couldn't be in too-deep water or he wouldn't have gotten reception. But Sully wasn't bound to him like he was to Sam; all he had to go on was Sam's approximation of where his brother was. Assuming he even was off the dock nearest Wilson Street and not just locked up in Dominica's garage or something. And could Zanna even go underwater? Well, when they weren't mermaids? Would one pudgy Zanna even be able to pull up a box with…with a body in it?

Sam chewed his lip bloody before he heard it: scraping over the phone. Then a couple of thumps.

His heart beat even faster.

More scraping. Some clattering. A creak.

And then Sully's voice. _"Oh, God." _

From agony to exultation and back to agony. "Sully! How is he?"

There were too many seconds of odd noises and grunts. Then finally, finally, _"He's breathing, Sam! Don't you worry, he's alive." _

And then Sam really did cry a little then, in the middle of town in a stolen car while his invisible friend said soothing words over the phone, and Dean hacked away in the background.

00000

By the time he tumbled from the Honda close to ten minutes later, Sam's face was dry and his hands were mostly steady. Sam couldn't see them at first, and there was a moment of fresh panic as he bellowed his brother's name.

"_Over here, Sam!"_

He followed Sully's voice to behind a scrum of bushes. And there they were: Dean lying motionless on his side a few feet from the water's edge, Sully bent over him.

"Dean!" Sam dropped to his knees, feeling for pulse—slow—rise and fall of chest—regular—the stirring of air in front of Dean's face—definite. Dean's lips were still a little on the blue side and he was unconscious, but he was alive, breathing, probably okay. Sam chafed his face. "Dean? C'mon, man, wake up."

Dean grimaced, arm making it halfway up to shoo him away before dropping again.

Sam used his drill-sergeant voice. "Dean!"

Dean, good soldier that he was, struggled to open his eyes and jump up, not quite managing either. "What?" he said, slurred but aggrieved. He had made it to one elbow but was already going down again.

Shakily, Sam plopped down on his rear and hauled Dean up with two handfuls of his shirt. Dean promptly tipped forward, nose to Sam's chest, and Sam wasted no time wrapping an arm around him. "Just…keep breathing, all right? You okay?"

Dean squirmed against him, not strong enough to push Sam away. "Freakin'…t'red."

Tough, Sam wasn't ready to let him go yet. "Yeah, suffocating will do that to you." Unfortunately, he had personal experience to draw on. And Sam knew how close his brother had come to dying if he was still this weak. He clutched Dean closer and focused on the figure past his shoulder, whom he just now realized was dripping wet. "Thank you. Thank you, Sully."

His old friend gave him a gentle smile. "You're welcome, Sam. Whatever you need."

Sam cupped Dean's head as his brother coughed again into his shirt. Oh, God, yes, he did.

Sully's expression became wistful. "Hey, you ever think about…finding a less dangerous job?"

Sam smiled wanly, thinking of the visions he'd been getting, what he feared he'd have to do to defeat Amara. "Then who'd save the world?"

The Zanna gave him a heartwarming, heartbreaking look, and then just squeezed his shoulder. Sam looked down when Dean murmured something, and when he looked up again, it was just the two of them.

"Who're you…talkin' to?" Dean puffed against his shirt.

Sam scanned the shoreline again, seeing now the large empty locker—ice chest?—that had almost become Dean's coffin, the top half torn off its hinges.

"Nobody. You ready to get out of here?"

00000

They stood over the burning carcass of the kappa who'd been pretending to be Joseph Dominica. The flames threw crazy shadows across their faces and the dark clearing. Sam snuck a few glances at his brother as they waited for the fire to die down, trying to see past the uncertain lighting.

"I'm fine, Sam."

Dean sounded weary but not unwell. The cough had stopped by the time they reached the motel, and a long nap and big dinner had him mostly back on his feet. He didn't remember Dominica's attack or Sully's rescue, and only hazily recalled calling Sam, but Sam was okay with that. He remembered too much for both of them.

As for why the kappa hadn't just drowned Dean outright? Maybe it thought Dean would revive and swim out if he just got tossed in the lake without being restrained? Or maybe it couldn't drown its victims in broad daylight? They would probably never know. And Sam was just fine with that, too, because it had saved his brother's life.

That, and a guy whom a week before he'd thought wasn't real.

"So," Dean said, still looking at the fire. "Sully."

"Sully," Sam agreed.

"He gonna ride to the rescue now whenever you call?" Dean asked, voice neutral but…something lurking there.

"I don't think so. Might be kind of a one-time deal." Sully hadn't outright said he'd owed them one for their stopping the Zanna killings, but Sam had gotten that implication. And that Sully had broken some rules to help him today.

"Huh."

He knew Dean had been jealous for a while after Sully showed up, for Sam turning to someone else when he was a kid, for someone who'd been there for Sam when he wasn't. But there could never be such a thing as too many people looking out for Sam as far as Dean was concerned, so he'd made his peace with it.

Until he was the one Sully saved.

Sam shifted where he stood. "You know, I asked Sully why you didn't have a Zanna growing up." He and Sully had had a little time to talk as they'd driven to save Dean from Reese, and Sam had been desperate for distraction.

Dean didn't look at him, but Sam knew he'd touched a nerve and his brother was paying attention. "Because I didn't want one?" Dean asked.

"No. He said you didn't need one."

They finally met eyes, Dean confused. Clearly he didn't know what to do with that; he'd been proud of being there for Sam when they were kids, but he'd also frequently been overwhelmed.

Sam went on, "Zanna protect and guide lost kids. Sully said you didn't need either. Dad protected us, more than we even realized, and you always had purpose and direction, more than 'most kids your age.'"

Dean continued to look baffled.

Sam shrugged, a little embarrassed, a lot sad. "You had me."

The light dawned. Along with that mix of embarrassment and pride that Dean seemed to feel whenever his raising Sam came up.

There was a beat. Sam waited for it.

"So…_you_ were like my imaginary friend." Dean smirked at him.

Sam just rolled his eyes, and smiled.

**The End**


End file.
